Jocelyn suffered from feverish dreams that night. They were lucid images that haunted her like a parliament of specters. When she awoke, she was drenched in sweat. She hugged her knees and stared blankly at the walls of the empty room they had assigned to her.

Jocelyn welcomed the gentle breeze coming from the open window, carrying the faint salty scent of the ocean.

It’s the monsters calling, Wynter had said.

“No, all the monsters are in here,” Jocelyn whispered aloud.

She closed her eyes. Her dreams were so vivid. She remembered all of it, as if she were viewing them on a television screen.

Jaks was in the first one. They were standing at the edge of the cliff outside the Crooked House, illuminated by the blue glow of the foreign moon. He looked at Jocelyn with affectionate eyes and that made her happy—that was until the darkness bled into them. The whites of his pupils turned onyx as he continued staring at Jocelyn.

“I tried to save you,” she whispered, glancing at his missing hand.

“Dead and gone,” Jaks whispered.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m dead and you’re gone.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to leave you. I was too weak to save you. I’m too weak to save even myself.”

“We’ll see each other again,” Jaks said. “I promise you.”

The words themselves were romantic, but the way he said it made Jocelyn feel as if bugs were crawling on top of her skin.

“Jaks?” she asked.

“Hush, darling. I need to sleep,” he said. He smiled and then fell backwards over the edge of the cliff and into the black void below.

That was the end of the first dream. The second dream was worse.

Jocelyn was back at home with her mother, sitting at their kitchen table, waiting for her breakfast. Her mom was whistling a happy tune. She had her make up on this morning and her long black hair was done into a neat ponytail. She looked good--dressed to the nines as they would say, which meant she was going out alone today.

Her mom was always happy when she got to go out by herself. Her mom being happy made Jocelyn happy as well. Perhaps they shared more than just their stunning looks. Maybe they shared emotions as well.

“Are you ready for your food, dear?” her mom asked.

“Yes please,” Jocelyn replied as she felt a gnawing hunger in her stomach.

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Her mom laid out a single empty plate on the table in front of Jocelyn.

“There’s nothing on this plate,” Jocelyn pointed out.

“No, there are a few crumbs on it,” her mom replied. Jocelyn looked at the soft lines of her mother’s face. That was when she noticed that her mom was hiding something in her mouth.

“Did you eat all the food already?” Jocelyn asked.

“Of course I didn’t.”

“I’m starving.”

“Well eat your food then.”

“But there’s nothing on the plate.”

“There is,” her mother insisted.

“Mom—”

“Eat your damn food you spoiled child.” Her mother’s gentle demeanor suddenly twisted into the grotesque visage of a hateful woman. “All I’ve ever done was give, give, give and all you ever did was take, take, take. Look at you. He would have eaten all his food. He would have been a good boy.”

He? Jocelyn was too shocked to respond.

“You’ve been a burden to me—a whiny brat that spends her days demanding more and more from me. Well, guess what? I have no more to give.”

Her mom grabbed a bowl from the sink and hurled it at Jocelyn’s head. Jocelyn ducked just in the nick of time, the ceramic dishware grazing the top of her head and shattering against the wall.

“Why are you saying all these things?” Jocelyn asked. “You’re my mother. You’re the only person that ever truly loved me.”

Her mom laughed. “Oh stupid little girl, it’s so easy for you to forget everything. The rot in your veins of yours must have covered it all up.”

“Covered what up?”

“The physical scars along with your memories.”

Suddenly the dark lines on Jocelyn’s arms began receding, revealing the natural whiteness of her skin. There were different markings on them, ones she long forgotten about: faded scars from scratches and cuts inflicted by her mother.

“These…” Jocelyn gasped.

“Those are real.” Her mom laughed.

No, it wasn’t true. Her mother cared about her. All the memories Jocelyn had of her mother and of her childhood were happy ones.

“You loved me,” Jocelyn whispered as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I remember all of it. I remember you holding me at night when I had nightmares, I remember you singing to me when I scraped my knee, and I remember you surprising me on my birthday with a large chocolate birthday cake.”

Her mom cackled.

“It’s funny how the human mind can twist or distort things so easily. Or was it him who decided to change the truth of it? No matter, I suppose.”

“What are you saying?” Jocelyn wiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I never did any of those things,” her mom stated. “It was your father.”

“Father?” The shadowy veil that blurred her memories was suddenly lifted. With this newfound revelation, Jocelyn’s mind began revisiting all her warm, childhood memories.

It wasn’t a woman who was with her during all those times of happiness.

It was a man. It was her father.

“I never wanted you,” her mother spat. “I had tried to convince your father to abandon you. He refused, even going so far as to threatening me. He bound your life to mine, just before he left. Pain that you would feel, I’d feel too along with your sadness, your happiness, and joy.”

“Where did he go? If he loved me so much, why did he leave?”

“The gods only know,” her mother sighed. “To change the universe I suppose. He always said that it was his destiny to do so.”

“If I was bound to you then these scars…” Jocelyn looked at her bare arms.

“There were some days that you just deserved a good thrashing, even if it meant making a few scars on my own body.” Her mom revealed her own arms, bearing the same scars.

Jocelyn shook her head. “Why? I was your daughter.”

Her mom folded her arms across her chest. “Are you going to cry some more? Look how pathetic you are.”

“Why were you so cruel to me?”

“Because he loved you more than he loved me.”

And then she woke up.

Was her dream telling her the truth? Did her mind bend her memories because the truth was too painful?

Something deep inside Jocelyn told her the answer.

Yes.

Her mother was a monster; a terrible jealous monster.

“I’m alone,” Jocelyn whispered.